The Widow and the Wizard
by ShunKickShunKers
Summary: "Would you like to come with me?" Harry stared at her eyes, big and green like his. Anything would be better than returning with the Dursleys, he believed it firmly. So he slipped this small hand into hers and held onto it tightly. AssassinInTraining!Harry Eventual Clintasha
1. Chapter 1

**I need to stop publishing new fics, but this one wouldn't leave my mine. Another Natasha takes in Harry story, but this time...she's bringing him to the dark side :3 **

**Hope you enjoy this ^^**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Harry fell back, or more accurately, slumped against the wall behind him. His legs were shaking and couldn't hold him up anymore. He swallowed heavily and stared down at his hands; his small, seemingly innocent hands. He had always been thinner and smaller than kids his age, just as Dudley was fatter. A _whale_, he called him in his head. Not in front of him, or aunt Petunia or uncle Vernon. And he, Harry Potter, so small and thin, could be mistaken for a five year old instead of the seven years old he was.

And much to his surprise, those frail, tiny hands weren't shaking, as if they hadn't regretted what they had just done. As if they hadn't released the…whatever it was, a sort of a strong wind, a blast, like those superheroes in the cartoons Dudley liked to watch on TV. But unlike heroes on TV, Harry hadn't used the blast to help someone.

He warily raised his head and glanced over the large body leaning all too still against the opposite wall. Lifeless eyes were open and staring at him accusingly. Harry swallowed hard again. He hadn't meant it. He hadn't meant to release the…blast, hadn't meant to harm the man. He just wanted to protect himself, to stop the pain, to stop the series of fists dropping over his body. He hadn't wanted anyone to be hurt, hadn't wanted to. And yet…

And yet a small part of him couldn't help but think; _he had it coming_.

After a deep, heavy breath, Harry stood up carefully. His legs had stopped shaking, so he took a few steps towards the body. He foolishly hoped the man was still breathing, that he was still alive. If so, he could call the ambulance, get him to a hospital. The punishment that would follow would be terrible, but he couldn't stand and do nothing when there was still a chance. So he brushed his face, ignoring the hard empty glare and called out gently:

"Sir? Uncle Vernon?" No answer. He hesitantly slapped the man's face. No reaction. "Uncle Vernon?" he tried again.

"He won't answer. I'm pretty sure you broke his neck."

The voice made him jump back and when he turned around, his eyes fell on someone. It was a woman with bright red hair, bright green eyes and prettier than most of those he saw on TV. She was standing in the entrance of the narrow passage, arms crossed, an impassible expression on her face. And then he remembered where they were, in a back alley behind an abandoned restaurant, where uncle Vernon and decided to take him to 'teach him a thing or two' after Dudley's PlayStation had mysteriously vanished. _(Dudley had buried it in the garden after breaking it, but he had just complained about his missing favorite game and had just grinned when Harry took the blame.)_

Harry took two steps back. His instincts were screaming at him to run away but his feet were frozen on spot. He couldn't move, didn't want to move actually. Someone had died by his hand, someone who had hurt him his whole life, but that wasn't an excuse. Killing was bad, killing made you end in jail. And –his heartbeat accelerated for a moment –what would aunt Petunia say? There was no way she would welcome him under her roof anymore.

His shoulders slumped in resignation. Perhaps jail would be better, in the end. There he would be at least safe from his aunt and cousin.

"Are you with the police?" he asked quietly.

The beautiful woman tilted her head sideways and frowned.

"The man was beating you, and you reacted in self-defense." Her voice was low and husky and detached. "What I would like to know is how you did it."

Harry's hands automatically clenched into fists and he brought them tightly against his chest.

"I –I didn't do anything! He just…he just tripped!" he protested, suddenly fearing this strange woman. What if she was part of a secret agency? What if she was a mad scientist that would take him away and make him take tests over and over again, like in that movie Dudley watched once? "I don't know what you're talking about!"

She took a few steps forwards and crouched to be at his eye level. Her green eyes stared straight at him.

"I'm sure it was an accident," she said on a compassionate tone. "I'm sure you didn't mean to do it, that you don't even know what 'it' is and until a few minutes ago, didn't realize you had 'it'." Harry felt himself tense but her eyes were soft and gentle. No-one had ever looked at him like this. "Now tell me one thing, do you regret killing him?"

The boy shivered and glanced at the unmoving body. Vernon had always scared him, with that loud voice and angry eyes. But now, he was just a big unmoving thing that couldn't hurt him anymore, and the fear was slowly being replaced by quiet anger.

"No." he replied, and was intrigued by the sincerity in his own voice. "He kept hurting me without a reason, he called me a freak." Pause. "I hated him."

The redhead nodded and reached out to take his hand. Her fingers were warm as they wrapped around his wrist and unfolded his tight fist. Not at all like the way aunt Petunia would grab him with her thin fingers so he wouldn't pull away.

"I don't think you are a freak," she said, and her voice was gentle and a little bit more genuine. Her lips stretched in a small, soft smile. "I think you are special, but that man couldn't see it."

Harry stood quiet, still not quite trusting the woman, but not wanting her to leave either. The teachers at school always said, _beware of strangers, don't talk to them, don't take anything from them_. But this stranger, this woman had done nothing bad to him yet. Even after she's seen what he'd done, she hadn't hurt him, she hadn't called him a freak. She had just taken his hand and smiled at him.

"Do you have a home to return to?" she asked then. Harry thought of aunt Petunia and Dudley, and shook his head. "Would you like to come with me?"

"Who are you?" he asked nonetheless, even though a big part of him wanted to say 'yes'.

The smile of the woman became a little wider and she whispered, like a secret:

"I am a little bit of a freak too."

She stood up and released his wrist, but her hand remained open, as an invitation.

"So?"

Harry stared at her eyes, big and green like his. Anything would be better than returning with the Dursleys, he believed it firmly.

So he slipped this small hand into hers and held onto it tightly.

**TWATW**

Mrs. Figg was returning from the market when she saw the muggle police car stationed in front of the Dursley's household. Many of the neighbors had gathered around and were speaking in low tones, exchanging inquisitive glances. She pulled her chart behind as she walked closer, all thoughts of the threat of salad and ice cream melting forgotten. Worry invaded her as she thought of the one little boy nobody ever cared of. Harry. Her 'charge', under Dumbledore's orders.

She hoped nothing had happened to him.

Once she had arrived on the site, she recognized Mrs. Carter, one of the rare muggle woman she took afternoon tea with on Thursdays. Figg hesitated, then figured Carter would be her best bet at finding out what was going on. Although the woman was a kind soul, she was an incorrigible gossip.

"Allison," she called out, catching her neighbor's attention. "Allison, what on earth is happening?"

Mrs. Carter saw her and headed by her side right away.

"Oh Arabella," she said on a condescending, like the older woman was a little senile and incapable of handling a lot of things. "You should return home, my dear. I'm afraid the Dursley's are going through terrible misfortune." She lowered her voice. "Mr. Dursley was found dead this morning, in a back alley on Nelson Boulevard, barely three miles away from here. They believe…they believe it was a…a _murder_."

Figg's eyes widened in fake concern, even though she couldn't care less about the fat man. Vernon Dursley was a lazy idiot, his wife a nasty gossip and his son a rude bully. Why Dumbledore had insisted putting Harry with those people, she couldn't understand. But if the man had deemed it necessary, then there must have been a reason.

"Oh my, and how is the rest of the family?"

Carter shrugged.

"That is not the worst, Arabella. Their nephew has vanished too, and Petunia believes _he_ is the one behind Mr. Dursley's death." Her eyes widened in horror at what she had just said and Figg felt a cold sweat dripping down her face. "Oh I am sorry Arabella, I shouldn't have said this. You look so pale…"

"Harry has disappeared?" she asked again in confirmation. Carter's lips tightened in a thin line.

"Petunia always said that boy was trouble, and I always thought she was a little too strict on him. But who knew she might have been right?"

Mrs. Figg was tempted to take Harry's defense, to ask if he hadn't been kidnapped or killed or even worst _(the things that muggles were capable of sometimes frightened her)_. But Carter was already losing interest and returning her attention on the house, from which a policeman walked out and asked people to go home. The old woman gritted her teeth and returned to her house in a hurry. A certain headmaster needed to be warned about the turn of events, and a seven year old was lost and alone somewhere. She just prayed that the Boy-Who-Lived was still actually alive when they found them.


	2. Chapter 2

**I might be able to update this one once a week. Least that's what I have in mind. 4 chaps are already written, 3 others on the way, so I should stick to schedule ^^. **

**Thanks for all the reviews!**

**Opnir: **thank you!

**Beth peschke: **thank you !

**Guest 1: **thanks, hope you'll like what's coming next :)

**Fabulous as FCUK: **haha thanks :)

**Guest 2 **Thank you !

**Elspeth: **people love drama and to believe stupid things. I don't think they truly believe Petunia Dursley, they just love the hypothesis. Thanks for the review!

**Iw117147: **thanks, hope you'll like what's coming next :)

**BTW mention of child trafficking, but very brief.**

** Un-beta-ed work, so all mistakes are mine.**

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><p><strong>The Widow and the Wizard<strong>

**1.**

**TWATW - 3 years later - TWATW**

Alan Stanzor was getting impatient. He kept glancing at his watch, anger slowly building in the pit of his stomach. He was the boss, for damn's sake, and his…product should have arrived ten minutes ago. And yet there he stood, waiting alone like an idiot in the goddamn empty street.

A light brown-haired boy suddenly appeared by his side, hands buried in his pockets. He was a cute one, well-proportioned and dressed cleanly.

"Are you Mr. Stan?" the boy asked with an innocent-like voice. "I was told to meet you here."

Stanzor's day suddenly brightened; forget the lateness, this kid would make up for it. He patted the boy's shoulder gently.

"Yes I am. Are you coming from Trenger?"

"Yeah. He apologizes for the lateness. He needed to take care of something first."

"It's all right," Stanzor said reassuringly. "But don't say 'yeah', a boy your age shouldn't speak like that."

The boy cocked his head on the side and smirked.

"Why, are you going to punish me?"

A smart-mouth. He loved them. They were the most fun.

"I believe we waited long enough. Follow me?"

"Lead the way, sir."

Stanzor turned around, ready to get things finally done, when a sudden sharp pain behind his knee made him crumble down. He hit the pavement with a loud grunt and clenched at his leg. Bleeding leg.

"What the –_fuck_!" he swore. The pain was atrocious, he didn't think he'd be able to get back up at all. The boy didn't panic, but merely stared at him with a disgusted expression on his face.

"You are a pig, Stanly," he said calmly, and only then, did Stanzor noticed the Swiss Army knife in his hand. The _kid_ had _stabbed_ him? But why? "You deserve more than a quick death, with all those lives you destroyed."

The man rolled on his side, opened his mouth, even though a part in the back of his mind reminded him he had chosen himself this place because no-one ever came by, that no-one would hear him scream. But the blade buried itself in the tender flesh of his neck and he died nearly on spot. The boy didn't wait for long and pulled back his knife, finishing him. Drops of blood were scattering over the pavement, so he hurriedly wiped the blade clean on a tissue he kept in his pocket.

"Make sure you don't stain yourself," a woman's voice said from behind. "It'll be a pain to clean up, but also hard to explain to people."

Harry turned around and glanced at Natasha. She was dressed in a business like attire, red hair hidden under a grey, elegant hat, a small luggage in her left hand. Her right hand held his usual backpack. He caught it easily when she threw it at him.

"Yes ma'am." He replied automatically before folding the stained tissue and dropping it on the ground. He took a lighter from the bag's front pocket and set it on fire. While it burned, he put gloves and searched for anything valuable on the body. He came back with a wallet, a cell phone and a nice pen.

"Anything else?"

Harry surveyed the body one more time. His eyes stopped on his watch. Expensive.

"That too?" he asked. Natasha nodded. He sighed, detached the watch and put it next to the rest. "I feel like a scavenger."

"It's either that, or sending clues to the local police. And extra cash." Pause. "He might be a monster, but at least he has good taste with pencils."

Harry chuckled.

"You have a weird obsession, ma'am."

"And you have a thing for jewelry and hairdressing. That's usually a woman's domain."

He grinned at her.

"Meh, at least that'll give me a conversation topic with ladies, growing up."

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Come on, brat. We need to go."

Harry picked up the stolen items and shoved them into his backpack, checked his surroundings and made sure his tissue had been properly burned before throwing the ashes into a garbage can nearby.

"We're good."

The redhead waited until he put his own baseball cap and a brown jacket to move along. Harry followed dutifully. They headed back into the main street and mingled easily with the coming and going crowd. They headed to a park and a secluded spot where they could relax _(as relaxing as assassins could)_ and only then Natasha spoke:

"Tu tiens le coup _(How are you holding up)_?"

Harry shrugged. Natasha had taught him very early to bear the smell and feel of a dead thing. They had hunted deer and wild boar and bears for nearly six months before the act of killing a living creature stopped making him puke. His first actual human kill -an arms' dealer who had nearly decapitated him with a machete- had given him nightmares for weeks. The second kill had gone smoother and the third –Alan Stanzor…

"Ca va _(I'm okay)_." he replied, and felt alright. Alan Stanzor was at the head of a child prostitution ring, so one bad guy less. If anything, he felt slightly relieved that such a monster had died _(in retrospect, most of his victims had been assholes. Maybe Natasha was trying to make him feel less guilty about taking lives)_. "Il ressemblait un peu à l'oncle Vernon. _(He looked a bit like uncle Vernon_)."

Natasha sighed.

"Tu as encore un léger accent, mais un étranger ne le remarquerait pas (_You still have a slight accent, but it's barely noticeable by a foreigner_)." She said before softening. "You did good today." Harry grinned; compliments from Natasha were rare but they were always genuine. "But we are still practicing tonight."

His smile faltered immediately, much to her amusement. And he had been hoping for a quiet evening…

**TWATW**

Dumbledore glared outside the window, hand caressing his beard. It had been three years since the Boy-Who-Lived had vanished. Harry would be ten today. Another year before he joined Hogwarts…if he joined at all.

The old wizard muttered under his breath and returned to his seat. The message Arabella Figgs had sent him back then had made him drop his jaw in shock. Of all possible turn of events, this one had been unexpected. Sure, accidents happened, but a murder and Harry disappearing? Dumbledore sighed deeply.

Some people had known about Harry's location at the time, had been greeting him in the street. The rumor running that he might have killed someone, although a muggle, was a disaster. Back then, Dumbledore had wondered. What would people think about their savior if they believed him guilty? What would they expect from a boy who had beaten a Dark Lord, and if they believed that same boy had taken a life? The muggles wouldn't stick to that theory for sure, Harry had only been seven at the time, and his uncle a huge person. But wizards knew how potentially dangerous a child who hadn't learned to control his magic could be. Accidents with muggles had happened before. All that mattered was the intentions, and it would be a matter of time before the magical community find about these rumors. The worst would come if they found out he, Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of their time, had made the decision to place Harry with muggles. His family, yes, but muggles. He could be partially blamed for his disappearance.

So he had gotten the spreading under control. He had announced Harry's disappearance to a few trusted fellow wizards and thrown in a research. Numerous volunteers had shown up at his door, but in vain. His only comfort was that his name was still in the register containing the students name for the years to come. At least, they knew Harry Potter was alive.

Just another year, Dumbledore thought. Another year and Harry would come to Hogwarts. This time, he would be put under better surveillance, Dumbledore would make sure of it. The world needed their savior, and he needed to guide him through the lights. There couldn't be another alternative.

**TWATW**

"Again!" Natasha ordered sharply, and Harry stood up, sweating and trembling with exhaustion, but ready to take over the challenge. He grabbed the wooden sticks and stood in position, the right hand holding one in front of him in a defensive position, the left one upwards in an offensive one. The redhead studied his stance until she was satisfied and froze into her own position, one wooden stick held high and ready to strike.

Harry attacked first. The first strike was aimed at her shoulder, soon followed by a second to her head. She ducked them both and retaliated with a harsh hit towards his waist. The boy managed to roll on the ground before the stick even brushed him and aimed for a leg. The hit missed again, but he was ready to counter her own attack. He ducked and jumped and tripped a few times, fighting stubbornly the shaky arms and the urge to crumble and never move again.

"Enough!" she ordered after a while and Harry all but let himself fall back on the mat. He was panting hard and so tired he could probably fall asleep right there, but he forced his eyes to remain open and focused on the redhead. Natasha picked up the sticks and put them back in their place. They had been practicing for over two hours, and she still didn't look like she had broken a sweat. It was frustrating, really, that he still couldn't even level up to her at any point.

"You made some progress." She said nevertheless, and Harry felt a wave of relief swamp over him. "But you still need to work on your legs and speed."

"Yes ma'am," he whispered and painfully rolled on his side before moving to stand up. The redhead was already packing and heading for the showers. He followed her with a slight limp in his step and headed to the men's section. The late hour made the place deserted, so he had the quarters for him alone. Harry eagerly turned on the water. Feeling it fall over his arching muscles nearly made him whimper in relief. He leaned both elbows against the cool ties and closed his eyes.

Nothing had prepared him to what he was living today. When he had agreed to follow Natasha –had it only been three years ago?- he had expected her to lead him to a house and start a new life. He had expected her to be like him, to have a strange power and being able to control it. He was confronted with a very different reality very soon.

Natasha was an assassin. She killed people for a living and for some obscure reason, had decided to teach him everything she knew. At first, Harry had been horrified; killing was bad, killing was a crime that was punished by law. But then she told him about some of her targets, about corruption and blackmail and bribery among many people and mostly in a position of power, and since then, his morals had taken a drastic twist. Maybe, just maybe, a little voice had whispered then, _some_ people deserved to die. And since Natasha was willing to take him under her wing, he figured he might be able to make a difference in the long run.

What other options did he have anyway? Returning to his aunt's house and relive the nightmare of being their slave till he was old enough? Risking to be found by the police and go to jail for defending himself against a man who kept hurting him? Being thrown into an orphanage with other kids who might take pleasure into bullying him?

Because he knew people had looked for him. Everywhere in Britain, his picture had been spread and shown on TV, on newspaper; his name had been screamed on the radio and discussed among people. He couldn't do much about his messy hair, except die them in a lighter brown or blonde or even one memorable time, bright blue. Natasha had bought him colored lens to change his iris when needed. But the scar? Nothing could be done about the scar. Two weeks after he had decided to follow her, they had left Europe for an Eastern country that name he still couldn't pronounce properly. A few attempts to hide it had been made, surgery included, but it stubbornly kept showing. So Natasha had just suggested he let his hair long enough to hide it and taught him to cover it with makeup.

Natasha was tough, strict and severe and pushed him hard in everything he learned. She never held back against him, sometimes to the point he ended up hurt for days. But _these_ bruises? He accepted them willingly. They were proof of his growing skills, of his hard work, and a reminder of how long he had to go until he had a chance to ever brush her.

Had they only been focusing on the fighting skills, he would have thought her a sadist looking for a punching ball, especially on boxing and aikido nights _(or even double sword fighting, which he had begged her to learn, and which choice he was starting to regret. Why had he that samurai cartoon on TV so cool again?_). But fighting wasn't the only things she taught him. Languages, history, physics and medicine and even the art of manipulating people _(in other words, politics_). He reeled in those lessons as he knew they would come useful in the future, and even though it was hard sometimes, she always knew when to reward him and when to punish him.

As for his power…

Harry bit his lower lip and stared at his hands. No outburst had occurred since he'd accidentally killed his uncle. At first, nightmares had come and gone, but in overall he wasn't overwhelmed by guilt. It was self-defense, as Natasha had told him, and he hadn't expected it to end like that. The problem was that he didn't want to try to trigger it on purpose. Even though Natasha had brought him to secluded places so he could hurt no-one, it just wouldn't happen. They both concluded the blast occurred when he was in danger or emotionally unstable, and put the problem for further notice. Perhaps that was why she had sent him on Alan Stanzor. Was she hoping to trigger a reaction? He pushed the thought aside and focused on soaping his body.

Natasha was far from a mother figure, but she treated him with respect, gave him shelter and at least two meals a day, which was more than he could ever say about the Dursleys. And so far, Harry didn't regret his choice one bit.

When he exited the shower, properly cleaned and dressed up, Natasha was waiting for him.

"Hurry up," she said. "I need to give you something before you do to sleep."

Harry nodded and followed her to the car. One of the negative aspects of learning to be a spy/assassin was the constant moving, but then again he didn't complain. Most of the times, they lived in hotels and the few safehouses they spotted were all temporary. _(Natasha had once told him he was getting good at spotting the best places to hide. Harry put it on the fact he had been hiding from his cousin and his friends most of his childhood. Hiding in a big town was just bringing the game to a wider scale). _

This time, the money Natasha and he made on the hit on Stanzor was good, so their room a bit more luxurious than usual. She rarely indulged in investing into something, saving a bit of money for the later days just in case. Harry let himself drop on the bed and sprawled all over, the mattress feeling like a heavenly marshmallow to his back. He closed his eyes half a second, only to realize he had dozed off ten minutes when Natasha called his name.

She had called room service, apparently ordered lasagna with a…was that pumpkin pie? He eyed her warily and realized she was holding a very long, flat box in one hand.

"My favorite meal and desert? What's the occasion?" he asked as he stood from his lying position. She must have been in a very good mood to indulge him and let him sleep even for a short while. Natasha gave him one of her rare, warm smiles.

"Have you forgotten the date? We are the 31st of July."

It took him a few moments before realization dawned upon him. The 31st. Of course. Today was his birthday. He sat back on the bed, abashed. How could he have forgotten?

"Happy birthday Harry." She offered, handing him what was now obviously his present.

He took the long box with slightly shaking hands _(blame it on the exhaustion)_ and set it on his laps. When he opened it, his eyes widened in shock. Two short katana swords were aligned on a velvet bottom, sharp _black blades_ ready to slice. He swallowed heavily and took one out. They were heavier than he expected, but perfectly balanced. He stood up and waved the one he was holding around. His grip on the handle was good and firm. The handle itself had a green shade to it, alike his eyes. They were handmade, he realized, and by a specialist. He swallowed heavily; he didn't need to have a lot of practice to realize they must have cost a lot.

"Thank you." he whispered, voice still thick with emotion. The previous year, she had gotten him a set of seven knives –including the Swiss Army knife, after his first mission. This gift was screaming 'promotion'. "Does this mean I get to start missions on my own?"

Natasha's response was a smile.

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><p><strong>I know black blade katanas are more made for decorative purpose than actual weapons, but since Harry will grow up to be an expert swordsman, I figured he might as well get special weapons out of it (and admit it, they are kinda cool-looking :P) <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**So things aren't really looking good for Harry here. It's more or less a filter chapter before SHIELD intervenes… **

**Guest 1: **Thank you :D

**Guest 2 : **He will eventually :) I'll have a lot of fun writing that part :D

**Guest 3: **oh, I didn't know that, thanks for the info. I was thinking of 50-60 something cm length. Wrongs will be corrected, thanks !

**P: **Thank you!

**Opnir: **Thank you :) hope you'll enjoy the next one!

**Guest 4: **exactly why I picked them up too :D

**I don't own Avengers or Harry Potter. Un-beata-ed work so all mistakes are mine :P**

**Hope you'll enjoy it!**

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><p><strong>The Widow and the Wizard<strong>

**2.**

Harry sat in a corner of his room, arms wrapped around folded legs and face hiding in his knees. He couldn't stop shaking, not after what had happened, not after the massive screw up. The door opened and he heard the nearly silent steps from Natasha edge closer. He felt more than heard her sit next to him. This, Harry knew, would be the closest thing to comfort she'd ever give him. He must have looked pathetic if she hadn't chided him for crying yet.

"I…I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible and broken. "I…I just need a minute."

It was an easy mission, his fourth one in five months. After his birthday, she had given him a first task, simple assassination. He'd had a close call, but he'd succeeded rather brilliantly. And he had managed just fine the next one, and the one after that. So when this particular mission had arrived, an easy one nonetheless, just an in and out, secret document theft, he hadn't expected complications.

The infiltration had been smooth. He had dissembled the cameras earlier; had gone through the corridors with his shoulder bag like any other schoolboy entering the laboratory. No-one had found him suspicious. No-one had seen him pick up the lock and enter his target's office. Finding the so-called secret files had been easy. He had stacked it in his bag and had been about to leave when the door had opened again.

"Collateral damage happens, Harry," Natasha's voice was uncharacteristically soft and understanding. "It always happens."

Harry tore his face out of his knees and glared at her.

"She wasn't supposed to be there!"

His voice was shaking with sobs and hot tears trailed down his cheeks. Natasha merely stared at him with a raised eyebrow. Harry glared at her before returning his eyes on the ground. She was right of course. The fault was his. He should have locked the door, should have had a back-up plan.

"She was standing right there," he rambled. "She was just there and-"

A young woman in her early twenties had walked into the room and spotted him. She had stared at him for a full two seconds and opened her mouth, probably to question his presence here. And Harry had panicked.

"I killed her Natasha!" he went on and buried his face in his knees to hide the new tears. Natasha hated signs of weakness, and he was displaying everything. Deep inside, he felt he had every right to be upset, but he couldn't bear the thought of disappointing her. "I –I didn't mean to, I just-"

He had raised his hand to ask her to keep quiet, but somehow…he had released his blast. The woman had been thrown against a closet and had badly fallen. The vague feeling of déjà-vu with uncle Vernon had paralyzed him in fear for a full minute. It had taken his best will to walk out of the office and even then, he had to hide the shaking of his hand in his pockets.

"She's not the last innocent bystander you will kill Harry."

Natasha's words didn't make him feel better, even though he believed her. He had thought he would deal with bad guys. He wanted to be someone good, not a villain.

"Her name was Lisa," she went on. "She was the doctor's daughter."

"Drakov's daughter?" Harry asked quietly. Andre Drakov played a lead role in an unofficial scientific research facility, where he worked to develop a deadly poison. He had injected said poison into people, including the wife of a powerful businessman. Said businessman was the one who had ordered the destruction of the research. No wonder why the news of her death had actually made his client happy in a twisted way. But for Harry, it meant an innocent had died from his hand. "Why are you telling me this?"

Natasha's hand caught his chin and she forced him to look at her. She didn't seem angry at him, rather neutral.

"I want you to remember, so you won't repeat your mistake. So you will always remember that forgetting to plan ahead all possibilities will bring consequences." She released his chin. "I won't punish you this time, you seemed to be doing a great job at that yourself. But I don't expect this to happen again. Is it clear?"

Harry closed his eyes and nodded.

"Yes ma'am." He paused and glanced at her sideways. "Did you ever regret killing someone? Someone who was…collateral damage?"

Natasha's face turned into stone as her eyes hardened. Harry felt slightly guilty; as he could guess the answer. He had heard her in her sleep quite a few times. She never screamed, never cried, but her breath would accelerate, her skin sweat and she'd wake up ready to attack or defend herself. She carried a weight he didn't understand sometimes and any other day, he would have apologized and dropped the matter. But right now, he wanted to know; so he kept steady eyes on her.

"I can't afford to have regrets Harry. I can only…I can only live with it." Something in her tone told him she wanted to say something more, but she held back. Harry set his eyes back on the floor; that was enough of an answer for him.

"I'm not sure I can return on the field right now." He admitted then. "I'm scared of screwing up again."

Natasha sighed.

"Listen Harry, if you need a break right now, I'll allow it. But I want you to learn to control that power of yours before you take any other mission. I have neglected that part long enough."

"You mean the blast?" Harry repeated dubiously. "But I can't make it work on purpose."

Natasha waved his comment away.

"That is something I can't help you with. It's obviously related to your emotions and if you panic again during a mission, this will turn out to be a considerable weakness. Do all the research you can; if you need to go somewhere, we'll arrange something. But I can't let you back on the field unless you have this under control."

Harry stood straight as a rocket, eyes wide and worried. Was she suggesting that if he failed, she'd leave him behind?

"I –I'll do it. I promise I'll master it."

As if she'd read his worries, Natasha replied gently:

"I didn't take you in to abandon you, especially since you proved yourself to be competent and thorough so far. But don't forget, this job is stressful and you need to keep your head on your shoulders at all times. This, whatever it is, is something you need to master if you want to move forwards."

Harry nodded firmly and watched her as she left his room. Although this mess had troubled him, he realized he had not once thought of quitting. He had gone too far to backtrack anyway.

**TWATW**

Dumbledore was anxious. In three months, the 31st of July, Harry would turn eleven. This year, he would come to Hogwarts and start his training as a wizard. But _that_ didn't worry the headmaster. No, what did put him on edge was that the boy had entirely vanished from earth. No matter how numerous the volunteers, no matter how much efforts they put into the research, Harry Potter had never been found.

He sat behind his desk and sighed heavily. The only hope he clung to was the Boy-Who-Lived's name in the register. So far, he knew the letter would be sent to him. Hogwarts magic was powerful, it would find the boy when wizards couldn't. But how would he react to it? What if he wasn't in England anymore, and got snatched by another school? He couldn't let that happen.

He caressed his long beard to help him think and evaluate his options. On one hand, he could wait and see if Harry Potter did show among the students this year. On the other…on the other, he could make sure the envelope was personally delivered. Yes, he thought, that was the best course of action. He'd need someone to track the boy, someone loyal to his cause, someone who knew Harry's parents, and who would love to see the boy again. Most wizards didn't believe the rumors that Harry had killed his uncle and favored the theory of him being kidnapped or killed, but others…those others, who suspected a burst of magic or voluntary manslaughter, those would only been quieted if the boy actually showed up.

So…someone who would convince him that he would be welcomed with open arms in England, and loved, in spite of the accusation lying upon him. Dumbledore smiled in satisfaction. He knew exactly who would fit the profile.

**TWATW**

Harry cursed in frustration and nearly slapped the computer screen. His swearing earned him a couple of glares from the people reading nearby, but he couldn't care less. He was currently stationed at a library, searching for answers through the internet. His quest had been going on for two months now. Two months of reading books, chasing theories and spending countless nights falling asleep out of exhaustion.

So far, it was leading nowhere. He had found legends, articles of supernatural events, people claiming they could turn invisible and walk through walls, or even levitate things. But nothing corresponded to his 'symptoms'. He had even gone to Louisiana see a woman who had voodoo skills, but she couldn't find anything wrong with him. The search on his birth parents had been interesting though; Lily and James Potter had apparently no record in the British archives, nothing that could indicate they lived or worked somewhere. He had vaguely been tempted to return at the Dursley's house to ask for information, but he doubted his aunt wanted anything to do with him.

Afterthought, she probably did know something. But Harry didn't want to confront her unless he got desperate. And even though he was getting sick of ending empty-handed, he wasn't ready to give up.

Natasha had gone on a three-day mission, leaving him to his own device, and ordering him to have found at least something to work on upon her return. That, or find out how he could trigger that blast. Harry sighed and stared blankly at the screen again. He hadn't told Natasha about this, mostly in fear of her reaction, but lately, he sometimes had these bursts of energy inside him, not unlike adrenaline, begging to be released. He thought they were at the origin of his blast, but whenever he managed to get alone to test his theory, the energy would fade and leave him tired and frustrated.

He could, of course, tell the redhead. But she would probably force him into a corner and try to scare him or try to trigger a reaction. Harry knew she was capable of going to such lengths, if she thought it could help him. He also knew that she was extraordinarily hard to kill because she healed within hours from any kind of wounds, and was stronger and faster than any human he'd seen _(that was why she considered herself a freak, but he found it rather practical)_. But he wasn't going to test the limits of his abilities on her, especially if it could endanger her life.

Harry sighed deeply and closed the computer session. Today would bring nothing knew again and staring at the screen was tiring his eyes.

He returned back to their hotel room, changed into his gym clothes and headed downstairs. They had chosen this place because it had its basement gym and was right next to a large wild land. An abandoned factory was stationed half a mile away and usually occupied by bums and other eccentrics but Harry didn't fear them. If someone tried to attack him, well, he already had taken down men three times his size. He slipped inside his combat boots and picked up his wakizashi and his favorite stiletto. He wanted to practice the double sword fighting mostly. The wakizashi were too heavy for him yet, but he loved manipulating them.

He was halfway there when another burst of energy rose within his chest. The suddenness of its arrival caught him off guard and nearly made him trip over something.

Harry cursed and glared at the cause of his near-fall. It was a wooden box, the kind you'd find in ranches or in older times, the kind that could contain goods sent on ships. And he stared at the box, extended his hand, breathed in deeply and concentrated. He wanted it to explode. He wanted it to burst into small pieces, wanted the wood to return to being splinters spread all over the place, and leave nothing behind.

The burst of energy started fading, but he wouldn't let it vanish this time. With clenched teeth, he narrowed his eyes and concentrated harder. The energy, this time, responded to his call and built inside him slowly.

"C'mon," he hissed to himself. "C'mon…"

Something broke in his mind, and the energy was suddenly surrounding him like a warm blanket. Harry nearly lost his concentration at the unexpected contact. A blink of the eye later, the wooden box exploded in a loud 'bang'. The impact of the explosion threw him backwards, but the energy (whatever it was, maybe something close to a shield), smothered his fall and protected him from any debris that might have hit him.

Harry looked at his hands again. His heartbeat was running miles, but he couldn't help the grin growing on his face. He did it. He managed to summon whatever was inside him. The simple process had exhausted him, but he was too happy to care. Natasha would return tomorrow; which left him about a full day to practice. He stumbled on his feet, continued his way to the factory, making sure he hadn't attracted the curiosity of some passerby, suddenly eager to reach a place where no-one could sneak up on him.

**TWATW**

Harry was limping and tired when he finally reached the door of their temporary hotel room. The bathroom was empty, so he hurriedly undressed, slipped under the hot shower and let himself sigh in content. Nothing was better than something to relax his muscles.

Today had been great, and at the time, a great successful research. He had spent a full hour trying to summon his Inner Energy (as he temporally named it) and when he had eventually managed; spent another few testing its limits. He couldn't quite control the power of the blow yet, but he was getting there. It seemed so easy, now that he could reach it. It responded to his call on instinct, and he was slowly discovering that sending blasts was not the only ability he could muster.

When he stepped out in the bedroom, Natasha was reading a book on her bed.

"Hey!" he greeted cheerfully. "You'll never guess what!" The redhead raised an amused eyebrow and waited. "I did it! I can create blasts if I concentrate hard enough."

A small smile grew on her face, which was her way of showing a great deal of approval.

"Congratulations young man." She said, and her tone was genuine. "How did you achieve it?"

"I forced it out," Harry replied, eager to try and explain. "It's…it's like an instinct, you know? Like I had a splinter under my skin and I needed to pull it out. I let it out, and it worked. I've been training all day."

"That's more like it," Natasha nodded in approval. "You'll have to show me sometimes soon." Harry suddenly noticed she had an open file in her laps, so she was probably studying for an upcoming mission. He felt a slight pang in his chest; he kinda missed being in the field. "And since you've actually made some progress; would you like to cover my back for this one?"

Harry's breath got caught in his throat. A new mission? A picture of the dead woman's body flashed back in his mind but he pushed it aside. If he wanted back, he needed to start somewhere. And if he was just there to help Natasha, it would be okay. He needed to believe it.

"It's just a classic assassination," she explained, ignoring his inner turmoil. "A politician during a party. I need you to sneak in the building posing as a schoolboy, visit the place and give me the details and escape roads." She grimaced. "It would look suspicious if I show up. You are just a kid, they won't suspect you."

Harry bit his lower lip.

"What has this one done?"

"He killed his brother and most of his family and put the blame on some uprising cartel." Natasha replied with a shrug. "Some guy in his party wants him out to take his and run for elections."

"So it's not related to his past deeds?" Harry asked, somewhat disappointed.

"Nobody is perfect," the redhead said deadpan, reminding him the world wasn't black or white, just various shades of grey. "But at least it shouldn't be too hard. I mapped out the place, but I still need confirmation of the reliability of some locations."

"And I'm the man for the job?" She nodded. "Can I keep an eye out afterwards?"

Natasha gave him a sweet smile. Harry had a feeling she had expected him to ask and was giving her full approbation. Pride busted in his chest, just like every time she complimented him, and he swore to himself he wouldn't screw up this time.


	4. Chapter 4

**So here is the next chapter. Hope you'll enjoy it :)**

**Opnir:** Thank you :)

**Dontblink: **I don't think even Natasha was a perfect assassin at his age. And Harry doesn't have to suffer through torture to learn (…not the kind Natasha suffered anyway). He's getting there though. ^^

**Guest: **Thank you ! :)

**And thanks to titania2811 for betaing!**

* * *

><p><strong>The Widow and the Wizard<strong>

**3**

Something was wrong, Harry thought as he glanced through his goggles. The reception was going flawlessly, Natasha talking to their target with that charming smile of hers. The other guests seemed to be enjoying themselves or being hypocritical with each other, as politicians always were. He couldn't spot any odd activity in the building –and he couldn't miss much with his equipment, even that guy in the expensive suit and a woman half his age in…

After three unwilling sessions of involuntary voyeurism, he didn't need to look for answers about the mechanics of the 'Talk' anymore. At least he never had to watch Natasha _working_ her targets. That didn't stop her from giving him cues on how to act like a little charmer with women. He already knew how to wrap people around his little finger though.

He returned his attention on the redhead. Nothing was wrong, but his guts were telling him otherwise. Harry set the feeling aside and sighed deeply. Even if an incident occurred, he was too far away to do anything. And Natasha was one of the best, she didn't need him there. He still kept watch and after a while, couldn't help but grin. A blonde man, well-built with a charming smile, had stepped in and asked her for a dance, cutting her chances to get her target to follow her. To anyone else, she looked politely interested in the newcomer. To him, she was irritated. He was wondering how long it would take her to shake him off and return to her target when a noise caught his attention.

Someone was walking through bushes nearby. He lowered his goggles and peeked from over his branch. He had decided to seek refuge in a high tree for observation because one, not many people might think to look up, and two, he was small enough to be hidden by the leaves and the darkness.

His throat tightened as he watched someone –a man in a dark leather suit –put a rather long case down on the grass and crouch next to it. When he opened it, Harry spotted a dismantled rifle within the man's reach.

"Echo in place," the man muttered.

"Taking position."

Harry waited, hesitant on what action to take. Should he wait? Take him down? Who was his target? Someone at the party? Natasha's target? Was it –his heart skipped a beat –the Black Widow? The boy cautiously retrieved the gun and silencer he had brought with him. For once he hadn't taken his full arsenal of knives _(still kept a couple just in case)_, figuring a firearm and a silencer would be more appropriate for his position, and he was glad he had done so. His spot gave him a good angle for a shot, but he wanted to know the newcomer's intentions before taking action.

"Waiting for target in sight," the man said as he lay with his now assembled rifle.

Harry immediately reached for his earpiece and turned it on. The voice of Natasha speaking a foreign language he had yet to learn invaded his ear. Instead of talking, he tapped against it, using Morse code to keep himself unheard from the sniper and hoping _she'd_ hear him.

_Sniper. Aiming. Target. Unknown._

He checked through his goggles and saw Natasha excuse herself from the blonde man and disappear in a corridor, out of his sight–and the sniper's. A succession of taps replied to his message.

_Stay. Put._

Harry heard the sniper curse.

"Target out of sight." He muttered. "I repeat, the target moved."

Harry used the goggles to scan the ballroom, trying to figure out who had just disappeared aside from Natasha. Some faces he didn't recognize and others he couldn't find. A few entered back into the room but the sniper remained quiet. Until Natasha returned.

"Black Widow's back," the sniper whispered again. "Waiting for kill order."

Harry didn't hesitate. He aimed the gun at the man's neck and pulled the trigger. The quiet 'pop' echoed in the silent night and the sniper's head and hands fell forwards. Harry spared a few seconds to contemplate his deed. The kill didn't upset him as much as he expected. Perhaps it was the darkness, perhaps it was that he hadn't seen the man die, or perhaps it was the knowledge that Natasha had been his target and he had just avoided a bloody mess that helped him keep his cool. Or, and his heart tightened at the thought, maybe he was getting used to the idea that he was probably going to kill countless others, including innocent and unknown people, to protect himself and Natasha.

He took a deep breath and shook his head.

_Sniper. Dead. You. Target. _He tapped in his earpiece again, and waited for an answer.

_Extraction_, was all he got. So he carefully put his stuff back together, shouldered his bag, and after checking his environment one last time, jumped from the tree and vanished in the night.

**TWATW**

Harry was late. He could barely breathe, barely feel his legs as they carried him out and fast to his destination. Natasha had ordered the extraction thirty minutes ago, and he _should_ have been there ten minutes ago. But a bunch of drunken students had delayed him, and he had thought he was being followed for a moment so was forced to take a few detours. When he arrived, he froze at the scene before him. Natasha was there, in her black catsuit. But she was pinned to the wall behind by an arrow of all things, piercing her straight through her shoulder. The pain must have been unbearable, but she hardly winced. And she wasn't alone. An archer dressed in black and pointing an arrow at her was standing across the yard from her. Harry swallowed hard as he recognized the man who had been talking to her at the ball. He'd never doubt his guts again.

He silently pulled out two knives from his boots. The gun might have attracted too much attention. The place was well-lit, but he still had a small corner darkened by a dead angle to hide in. Harry fully knew he had little chance to overpower the man, especially since he had a slight idea of who he might be. As an assassin, Natasha had taught him the names of the people to watch out for, and their specialty. Arrows left two possibilities: Oliver Queen, aka the Green Arrow, who almost never left Star City; or Hawkeye, freelance assassin according to the latest news.

Harry swallowed heavily; his money was on Hawkeye, the man who never missed and made impossible shots. If he was spotted, he was as good as dead. Although the fact Hawkeye hadn't killed Natasha yet probably meant he wanted her alive. The only advantage Harry had was that not many people knew the Widow had an apprentice.

The thought had barely crossed his mind that an arrow flew inches from his head and through his clothes, pinning him to the wall behind him.

Oh man, he was screwed.

"Don't make any stupid moves, kid." Hawkeye shouted in warning without even looking at him, although Harry was a hundred per cent sure the archer would notice his every move. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"If he isn't your target, let him go," Natasha said calmly. "He's no match for you."

"Yet," Hawkeye replied, as Harry remained perfectly still. "Sorry, but I'm not taking any chances. And I want to talk to you first."

Harry saw Natasha huff.

"You have an odd way to catch a woman's attention," she said sarcastically. The man grinned widely.

"There aren't many ways to catch a beautiful woman's attention and keep it, especially a woman like you."

"What do you want?" Natasha asked this time, cutting through the banter. The archer did a surprising move. He lowered his bow and pointed the arrow towards the ground. Not that Harry didn't expect him to be able to aim again in a split second. He could probably use his Blast to surprise the man, but he wouldn't risk his or Natasha's life.

"I've been following you for a while." Hawkeye said. "And I think it's a waste to kill off such talent. I want to bring you in with me. Both of you."

"Why would we want to work for your employer?" Harry spoke for the first time, earning Hawkeye's attention. "We have no guarantee he won't hurt or order a death sentence on N- the Widow," he corrected his slip, not knowing if Hawkeye knew Natasha's real name. "Or me, for that matter."

The archer smirked.

"I don't touch kids. And SHIELD could benefit from people like you."

From the corner of the eye, Harry observed Natasha's stiffening stance and figured that 'SHIELD' must be a huge thing.

"Either I come with you, or I die. Are these my choices?"

"I'll give you five minutes to think it over." Hawkeye replied cheerfully. His cockiness made Harry angry. So he had no intention of letting Natasha go, no matter what? Harry knew her pride might tip the balance, and there was an eighty percent chance she refused on spot. He, on the other hand, couldn't make a decision. Too many unknown factors, too many things to take in account, including this SHIELD organization he knew nothing about. If only he could take out Hawkeye and have a conversation with Natasha, to get a better grasp…

A blink of the eye later, he was standing behind the archer.

Harry saw the incredulous stare on Natasha's face, and didn't waste a second before jumping and hitting Hawkeye at the junction between his neck and shoulder. The man crumpled without knowing what hit him, although he would wake up extremely puzzled. Harry hurried to Natasha's side to help her pull out the arrow. Except that he wasn't of great help; his hands were shaking.

"How did you do that?" Natasha asked as she took care of the matter at hand. Harry just stared blankly.

"I have no idea," he replied, and she seemed to believe him. "Let's go."

**TWATW**

Two days later, they were resting in one of the rare actual 'house' safehouses, set in the countryside somewhere in England. Evading Hawkeye had been the top priority, traveling through different airlines, disguising themselves, pretending to be at least three different people each time. But with a detour through Spain and Portugal, they had caught a plane back to Paris and then from Paris to Berlin and taken another plane to London. They hadn't been in that country often, Harry reflected. Bad weather most of the time and some places and people in London and gave him the creeps.

At best, Hawkeye would take a couple days to find this place. At worst, he'd be there sometime tomorrow night. All they could do for the time being was take a nap and rest while they still could.

Natasha found Harry curled in a couch, watching the clouds outside. A storm was coming, he could feel it in his bones, or rather in the thigh injury he made once, still not fast enough to dodge the machete from his first target. Since then, he could feel whenever the weather was about to change.

"We need to talk." Natasha said, and the serious tone told him all he needed to know. They had been avoiding this subject for a while, but now that they had a break, they needed to discuss what had happened back there with Hawkeye.

"Famous last words?" Harry replied in an attempt to release the tension. The redhead smiled a little but it didn't distract her from her goal. Harry watched her as she sat on the couch across his and set her hands flat on her thighs.

"Harry," she started, but he looked back outside.

"I swear Natasha, I have no idea how I did it." He said quietly. "One moment, I was thinking that I wish I could talk to you alone about SHIELD, why you seem to know and are wary of them." He glanced quickly at her, and the redhead nodded to confirm his suspicions. "The next, I'm standing behind Hawkeye and knocking him out before he realizes where I've disappeared." The first drop hit the window. He brought his knees against his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "I…I wish I knew what was happening to me."

And there, he dropped what had been weighing on his mind from the beginning.

"I'm scared Natasha. I don't know what to do."

The redhead stared at him for the longest time, and just for once, he wished he knew what was going through her head. Eventually, she stood up and walked towards him. She leaned against the closest wall and crossed her arms.

"I don't know where your powers come from, Harry," she said calmly. "But they saved my life tonight, and I'm grateful for that. Don't worry," she added, crouching to be at his eye level. "We will figure something out, together."

Harry bit his lower lip again, hesitated, then stretched to wrap his arms around her neck. She stiffened but he ignored her reaction and held tighter. Natasha never showed him any kind of physical attention, never hugged him, barely touched him out of training necessity. From the beginning, she had made it clear she wouldn't be his mother. But no matter what she said, no matter how she acted and how she expected him to act, a mother was exactly who she was to him. And right now, now that he was scared and a bit at loss and searching for answers, and now that she'd assure him she wouldn't leave him behind, he wanted to thank her.

Although hugging was probably far from what she'd accept…

He quickly released his grip after a few seconds more, jumped off the couch and wished her goodnight before scrambling off to his room. He didn't want to see the expression on her face.

**TWATW**

Night had fallen for a while, but Natasha couldn't sleep. Her eyes were fixated on the ceiling, wondering when this situation had gotten out of hand.

A couple of years ago, when she first saw Harry being beaten by a man, she had just wanted to interrupt them and send them both to the police station, or call the social services. And then, she had witnessed that tiny boy send the big fat tormentor off effortlessly. And it had intrigued her. The way the fat man had fled had impressed her, but there was more to Harry than met the it was his young age that truly caught her attention, perhaps it was those steady hands, the innocence in his eyes and yet the oddly cold 'no' to her questioning his regrets about ending that man's life.

Right there, right then, she had known they were alike. Had the boy not accidentally killed his uncle, he would have lived through the unfairness of his treatment. And once out of his family's grasp, anchor himself to the first kind soul he came across. She had seen it in the way he had readied himself to face the consequences of his action, and yet was angry at being a culprit when he felt himself being the victim. He was the kind of child who would keep a moral compass, who would see the rights and wrongs of life and, if taught properly, know when to intervene and not.

In him, Natasha saw potential. Whatever curse or blessing he possessed, she knew he wouldn't use it against anyone defenseless if he could help it. And she had made a decision.

Her ledger was dripping red, no matter how much she worked to balance the wrongs of her past. She had barely reached her early twenties back then and she was already tired and aimless. Keeping and teaching that child would give her a purpose, help keep her grounded. And in the end, whenever she grew tired enough…

At least death by someone she had chosen, someone _good_, would be a blessing _(but Harry didn't need to know that part of her plans for him yet)._

But as time went on, a few things were coming to bother her plans.

Natasha had known that, at some point, she'd started to feel some affection for him. Harry was a lovable kid, too eager to please her and searching for approval in nearly each and every step. She was proud of his progresses, just like any handler would be, and she threw him a bone from time to time to keep him happy. But in her mind, he had shifted to being 'the kid' into 'her boy' in a matter of years. That attachment was becoming problematic. She wanted to train a potential partner and maybe her future killer, not give him (_and herself_), something akin to family. Never mind that little pang in her chest when he had hugged her earlier, or that little voice whispering they could be if she gave it a chance.

Natasha sighed again and rolled off the bed. She stood up and went down the living room. Since this was an old safehouse, they had done some grocery shopping before coming here. And she needed a great deal of vodka right now. The alcohol had actually been a thought from Harry, who had remembered last minute that she might need something to distract her. Harry, whose birthday was tomorrow –or rather, according to the clock, in a few seconds –and she hadn't bought a gift.

Natasha immediately chided herself for that thought and brushed away the slight guilt she felt inside. The kid was eleven, he could survive without a present this y-

_Bang, bang_

Someone knocked heavily at the front door


	5. Chapter 5

**Hee…I'm startingto get late with this one…hopefully I won't be over 2 weeks next time ^^" **

**2 lazy 2 login: **not any crueler than any other :)

**Dontblink: **thanks :D

**Guest: **Dumbledore wouldn't have showed up himself, what do you think xDD

**Guest 2: **Haha you're right to wonder…but telling would be spoiling so I'll keep it there for now :)

**Continues: **will do..

**Guest 3**: will do…

**Guest 4: **coming!

**And thanks to titania2811 for betaing!**

* * *

><p><strong>The Widow and the Wizard<strong>

**4**

The heavy and brutal knocks were bound to break the door; that much was obvious. Natasha immediately ran in a corner, far enough from the entrance**,** praying Harry would have enough sense to keep himself hidden. After three more hits, the hinges didn't hold anymore and fell on the floor with an even louder 'BANG'. A huge man stepped in, and put the door back in place. The only thing that saved him from getting a bullet in his brains right away was the insane curiosity the stranger inspired in her.

He was undoubtedly the tallest man she's ever seen. The largest too, with an impressible black bear and heavy brown coat. His hand was about the size of her head, maybe even larger, but she didn't doubt her chances in a one-on-one. She was a good shot and eyes were always vulnerable.

Natasha took her gun and slowly approached the entrance.

"Better in that out." The man said in a gruff, content voice. And when he saw her, he gave her a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry 'bout the mess ma'am."

"Who the hell are you?" she spat, eyes narrowed and hand tight on the handle of her gun. "What do you want?"

The giant looked abashed, although unwary of the weapon.

"Uh…sorry ma'am, I'm Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid. I'm lookin' for Harry."

"Harry?" Natasha asked in disbelief, but her insides were clenching in anger and fear. What did this giant want with him?

"Uh yes, he's here right? It's his eleventh birthday, I wanted to make it a surprise. 'N I know he's here. The owl guided me." He added and motioned towards his coat. Natasha immediately pointed her gun at him and hissed:

"Keep your hands were I can see them." And Hagrid obeyed,a startled look on his face. "I don't give a damn about that. Bursting inside a house at midnight to surprise an eleven year old is NOT appreciated. This is my house. If you want to see him so badly, come back at daylight."

The man looked displeased, but she didn't budge. His reactions were something she couldn't predict (_yet_) and he was here for Harry. Maybe Harry would actually be the death of her in the end, just not the way she had expected it.

"Ma'am, I medda long trip to get here, and its storming outside."

"Not my problem, buddy. Now get the hell out of my house before I shoot you."

The man looked uncertain as to his next course of action. Then his face became firm as he made a decision.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but Professor Dumbledore asked me ta give Harry his letter. An' I won' leave till I _give_ him his letter."

"What letter are you talking about?" she barked this time. "And who the hell is Professor Dumbledore?"

The giant looked ready to pick a fight (_that would have ended with him getting a bullet in the eye regardless_) when a noise made them both turn. Harry was frozen in the corridor with a huge bucket of ice cream in one hand, a huge spoon on the floor.

Natasha had the sudden urge to shoot _him_ instead.

**TWATW**

Harry couldn't sleep, but for different reasons. Two days ago, he had saved Natasha from another assassin. Natasha had nearly died. And that was upsetting him, especially since he had used another side of his power he had no idea existed before. He sighed deeply and curled into a small ball. He had made peace with the idea that he might lose Natasha from a mission. It would hurt and he'd be alone against the world again, but at least he'd have more than knowledge of cleaning a house and cooking with him. But thinking he might have other…gifts, or curses, he wasn't quite sure now, that he had no idea of and couldn't predict…

He was slowly turning unreliable. And Natasha didn't need unreliable.

Harry curled tighter. What if she decided he wasn't worth her time anymore? What if she decided to ditch him under some pretense and vanish with another student, more capable (_and more normal_)? In spite of her encouraging words, he didn't want to keep his hopes up.

Blast those thoughts, he decided. Tonight was his birthday (_well, technically tomorrow, but what were five minutes in an hour?),_ and he wanted some mint ice cream. Something he found amusing enough was that he and Natasha had both the same way of coping with unwanted emotions: food and drinks. She'd drown vodka shots, and he'd eat mint ice cream. He didn't give a damn what people might think if he –a _boy-_ loved 'comfort food'. As long as it worked…

Harry was digging his fifth spoon from the pot when the first knock echoed in the whole house. The sound startled him as he clenched the ice-cream tightly and ignored the chilly feeling it brought to his torso. He crept closer to the main entrance, keeping hidden when he heard the door giving in and falling noisily, and made himself as quiet as could be when he heard the first exchanges between Natasha and the intruder. When he peeked around the corner though, he wasn't expecting to see a huge man towering Natasha and looking all-too-ready to hit something.

_Bloody Hell._

The spoon dropped from his shocked hand and all the attention was on him. Natasha looked like she wanted to murder him. The giant man's face lightened in a wide grin.

"Harry! There you are."

Harry blinked again, too stunned to actually move. The giant happily went on, "The las' time I saw you, yer were a baby. Yer look a lot like your dad, but yer have you mom's eyes. My name is Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

"Ho-what?" he said as Natasha asked: "What the hell is Hogwarts?"

Hagrid paid Natasha no mind, which annoyed Harry a bit. Couldn't the big guy see that she was the dangerous one in the room? Not to mention, she was really close to pull the trigger on him.

"Hogwarts, the best Wizarding school in Europe. You mustav' heard of it through your aunt and uncle, eh?"

A wizarding school. Hum…was he a wizard? That would make sense. Harry kept quiet, figuring he might learn more that way, and shook his head. Hagrid looked crestfallen at the negative answer.

"Those muggles," he muttered, shaking his head in desperation. "Dumbledore said it might no' be easy, but I never thought…what do you know about your parents, Harry?"

The boy stared at the giant suspiciously, trying to figure out if he had any kind of motive. At the same time, he watched Natasha by the corner of the eye. She seemed content to let him take the lead, so he went on.

"They were killed in a car accident."

The giant's face grew red with anger.

"A car accident? James and Lily Potter killed in a CAR ACCIDENT?" his roaring voice made the huge house tremble. Natasha looked worried for a fraction of a second. "There is NO WAY a CAR accident would have killed them!"

"So they were murdered?" Harry guessed. Hagrid stared at him in shock, so he explained his reasoning: "You just stated they were hard to kill. Unless it was a freak accident, I don't think they would have died of natural causes, especially given your reaction." The giant stared, stunned. "So, was I right?"

"You are not…upset?"

"Uh…not really. I mean, I was a baby, and I'm sure you were good friends, but I can't…I mean, it's hard to feel sad about people you don't remember. And Natasha raised me," he added. "So she's kinda my mom." He just kinda hoped she wouldn't strangle him for sentimentality later. It was one thing to steal a hug, another to claim her to be more than a mentor. Hagrid's eyes became slightly colder towards the woman.

"And I'm sure she dida good job," he replied gruffly, nowhere close to hiding his resentment. Harry disliked him even more. "But Harry, this isn't where yer supposed te grew up. Ye belong to the magical community, with us. Yer parents would've wanted ye to be there."

Harry crossed his arms and glared at the man.

"So why was I left with my uncle and aunt, both of whom hate me? Why didn't someone come and check on me if I 'belonged' to that so-called magical community? Is it because I turned eleven? Because now I finally reach an age where I start to gain some importance? No, let me guess," Harry interrupted as Hagrid opened his mouth to speak. "Is it because of that school? Hogartz? Why the hell would I even want to go to a magic school, I'm perfectly fine here!"

Was it his imagination or had Natasha's lips twisted upwards for half a second?

Hagrid was not smiling at all. He actually looked…confused, hurt, and maybe a bit angry.

"Har-"

"No. No, don't you say one more word. First, you burst inside our house like you had all the rights. Second, you burst inside our house at goddamn past _midnight _and you're still surprised you are unwelcomed? I don't give a damn if it's my birthday and that you're excited to see me; you _don't_ do that and _that is pure goddamn common sense_! And third, you have no right using the line 'that's what my parents would have wanted you to do'. They're dead, they can't judge me anymore."

The giant looked thunderstruck. Harry went on:

"But before you leave, I'd like to know who killed them, and why."

Hagrid kept quiet a few moments more, up to the point where Harry wondered if he was going to move at all. He still looked upset, but his voice was grave when he eventually spoke.

"They were good people. The best people I've ever met." His eyes were growing sadder by the minute, but Harry didn't let himself be distracted. He didn't think Hagrid was brainy enough to fake emotions, but he wouldn't let himself be softened by a big bear's tears. "There was a war going on and a Dark Lord rose to power. Dark times, Harry, very dark times. Couldn't trust anyone, fam'ly an' friends were dying. But yer parents, they stood against him. They stood and they fought. And then one night, on Halloween, he came to yer house an' killed 'em. And then, he tried to kill ye too, but he couldn't."

Harry didn't blink through the whole story, keeping his emotions detached to be able to analyze them later. This was like a mission. He wanted to hear all details before deciding of a course of action, exactly like Natasha had taught him. Except this time, he'd be taking the lead and making the decisions. He could see Natasha from the corner of his eyes, waiting for his instructions, so he subtly told her to wait a little.

"He cast a spell on you, and it rebounded. No-one knows how, but ye survived. That scar, ye have on your forehead, that's the trace he left on ye. It comes from dark magic, Harry." The giant's eyes were determined again. "That's why ye got to come back to Hogwarts, Harry. Ye need to learn magic, and Hogwarts' the best school in England, with the greatest headmaster of all times, Albus Dumbledore. He was the only one You-Know-Who feared. He'll keep ye safe."

Harry sighed deeply.

"Listen Hagrid, you seem like a decent guy and I understand why you're so enthusiast about me going to that school. But seriously, I'm fine. I've got a good control over my…magic, Natasha teaches me everything I need to know and I like the life I live." He decided not to mention Natasha's job, or his future choice of career. He had a feeling if he did, the giant would grab him under his arm and run out of the house with him. And he wasn't sure Natasha would come after him.

But Hagrid didn't look the slightest convinced.

"Harry, we spent a long time lookin' for ye. Now was the only chance we had to find ye. Y'need to come back with me; the muggles think you killed yer uncle. We all know it's wrong. I know it's wrong. Ye would've never hurt anyone."

"Muggles?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Non magical people," he explained. "Like tha' woman." He added, nodding towards Natasha. The redhead gave him a hard glare, but Hagrid obviously thought he had nothing to fear from her. That would undoubtedly be his undoing. "But that ain't all Harry. I don' think You-Know-Who actually died that night. Something happened, but I believe he's still alive, lurking somewhere. You must come to Hogwarts, you'll be safe there."

If there was one thing Harry hated, it was being ordered around by strangers (_Natasha didn't count; she had at least waited until he had agreed to follow her to boss him around)._

"Oi, Hagrid," he snapped, a little dryly this time. "Are you even listening to what we've been saying? I'm staying here. I'm not going to Hogartz, or whatever that school's name is. I'm staying here with 'that woman'. I asked about my parents because I wanted to know what happened to them, not because I needed further convincing to follow you. And if that murderer, whose name I actually _don't_ know, is still alive, returning to a magical place would be a goddamn stupid thing to do for me, wouldn't it?"

Hagrid seemed at loss. Apparently, he hadn't expected Harry to be so determined not to follow him.

"Is she holding you back?" the giant asked, a little desperate now. "Is that muggle threatening ye? Ye call tell me, Harry, ye'll be safe with me."

Harry glanced directly at Natasha, at loss about what to do. The redhead's lips thinned into a line. She wasn't sure about the next course of action either. The move made him realize he was still across the room, holding his ice cream. No wonder why he couldn't feel his left arm anymore.

"Harry?" the giant pleaded now, taking a step forward.

Harry didn't think. A blink of the eye later, he transported himself side by side with Natasha. And this time, the redhead didn't startle. Hagrid though, looked stunned.

"Ye can apparate? Bu-"

The boy threw a violent blast against the giant, sending him fly backwards against the wall and knocking him out glanced at the boy with a raised eyebrow. If she was impressed by his demonstration, she didn't show it.

"Was it necessary?" she asked calmly.

"He wouldn't have let me stay. I think he could have hurt you if I kept denying his request," Harry replied on the same tone, watching the giant slump unconscious. Contrary to uncle Vernon, Hagrid was all muscle and seemed to be a lot more resistant to blows. He wouldn't get more than a headache upon waking up. "Maybe we should leave now?"

"Pick up the bags. I'll get the car ready. I don't want to test your theory."

**TWATW**

Hours later, they had parked in a lonely bar where they stood out, but at the same time, they didn't have much of a choice. Natasha ordered a coffee and Harry a hot chocolate. They needed to make plans, because Natasha was sure Hagrid would come after them, but Harry wasn't quite worrying over that. The giant's words kept rolling in his mind.

"He said I was a wizard." Harry spoke slowly, his finger playing with the edge of his cup. "That would explain where my powers come from."

Natasha kept quiet, taking a sip from her cup. Her lack of reaction made him nervous. He hated when he had to guess the mood she was in.

"Do you think I should have left with Hagrid?" he asked eventually, his voice unusually tiny and unsure. He hoped the woman wasn't planning on how to get rid of him. She wouldn't kill him, but leaving him behind would make him wish she did.

"This is something I was never trained for, so it's up to you, Harry." Natasha replied with a shrug. "If you feel more comfortable starting that school to master your gifts…"

Harry snorted. The idea of following a guy who would have voluntarily hurt a woman just to make him listen was out of the plan. He didn't care if Hog…whatever the place's name meant safety or how powerful the headmaster was. If there was one thing he'd learnt from Natasha's training, it was how to determine one's motives. Whoever had sent Hagrid had been determined to bring him back, and Harry didn't like it.

"I don't want to stop your training." He spoke quietly, but firmly. "I've gone too far to give up now." He briefly thought of his few kills and a dead Lisa and focused back. "I know I'm a wizard now, so maybe I'll have a better grasp on what I can do. I already have a minimal control over the blasts and I figured out how the teleportation worked. I'm positive I can figure out the rest on my own. Maybe I can even find another wizard willing to teach me."

"It's a dangerous thing you'll be trying," she warned him with a raised eyebrow. "Jumping in the unknown without a plan."

"But it's still my decision." Harry replied, meeting her eyes determinedly. "And I have still a lot to learn from you."

Natasha kept her eyebrow raised, but he thought he saw a glimpse of pleased surprise in her eyes. That alone, made him feel better.

"Fine. Now that you've made your choice, lets not mention it anymore. We have another problem ahead."

Harry tilted his head on the side.

"Oh?"

"Hawkeye." She replied with a reproving frown.

"Oh, right. I almost forgot about him." He said apologetically. He really needed to learn to keep his focus on the bigger picture. He wasn't going to prove he was a capable student if he kept being distracted by little things all the time.

Natasha stared at her mug intensely. People around them were deep into conversation, so she went on quietly, "I have an idea to deal with him. But it's a dangerous gamble, and I want you to promise me you will get away from there ASAP if it doesn't work."

Harry raised a curious eyebrow. A small part of him was happy they were jumping back into action, while another was just glad he could take Hagrid off his mind.

"What's the plan?"


End file.
